Sensations
by Spookiesque
Summary: A series of random one-shots with emotion-based themes. Rated M for violence in Ch. 2
1. Happiness is

best in **1/2**

**Happiness is…**

It was roughly 6:25 am, according to the Vaultie's wrist contraption- _a pipboy, if he remembered right_ -and he and his employer were finishing up their sweep of Paradise Falls. What an ironic name for such a place. Paradise implied goodness and happiness, but there was none of that there. But, as he watched his current employer scrounge around and loot the corpses of freshly fallen slavers for various things, caps and ammo not the least of which, Charon concluded that he didn't know what happiness was.

Of course, he was happy to be out of that godforsaken corner in Ahzrukhal's less than morally acceptable establishment, but was that truly happiness? He didn't know. His foggy eyes followed the teen's every move. He watched as she plucked up a few caps and some variation of an assault rifle from one of the bodies- _even a finger_ -before heaving a super sledge up and attempting to carry it to their next destination. He took it from her, much to her relief, and they left Paradise Falls.

Charon was not the type of man who often had the time to indulge himself with thoughts about this or that, if not because it just wasn't his nature, he could blame it on rarely being allowed to have his own thoughts. With her, he noticed he could speak freely, he could wander around, he could eat and drink in her presence, and that made him feel good. He valued his time with her, even if she was hard to keep track of and even harder to hold a conversation with- _the things that ran through her head were amazing_. But was that really happiness?

He often tried to follow her example, and use her form of happiness to his advantage, but that rarely worked. He knew what she loved, and that was doing the right thing and making people proud of her. Sure, there was the incident with the ghouls over at Tenpenny Tower, and sure that annoying bastard Three Dog was relentless in his verbal assaults against her, but her brand of happiness was a good brand. It just wasn't _his_ brand.

_Thanks for listening chiiildren! This is Three Dog ooooouuuut! And you're listening to the Galaxy News Radio Station, where we're telling you the truth. No matter how bad it hurts._

That man seemed all sorts of happy, Charon noted. He wondered if it was because of chems, because anyone _that_ happy could not have been in the right state of mind. But, he wasn't the type of man to really give two shits what someone else did to make themselves happy, so long as their brand of happy didn't involve his employer getting harmed in anyway. In fact, when it came to what other people thought was happiness, which was usually the death of his employer, Charon often found himself vehemently filling their faces with the buckshot from his combat shotgun.

The recoil of the weapons fire made his arms numb yet tingle strangely. He would feel the vibrations all the way down into his legs, and it felt good. It felt good to hear her scream out in shock and surprise as a Yao Guai rushed her, or as a Raider attempted to put his or her hands on the kid, only to have him put them down in a most violent fashion. She did not condone his tendency to mock his victims- _what else could they be?_ -but she never said anything against him when he'd chase after their fleeing forms, shotgun at the ready.

_What's the matter, can't stand the sight of your own blood?_

It felt good to pull the trigger, to send the pellets flying and to watch the enemies of his contract holder collapse to the ground, gripping their wounded bodies feebly. Shows them for fucking with his boss. He'd shoot them one last time, even knowing they were dead, before returning to her side as he always did. He'd stand and watch over her vigilantly, even in the safety of her home in Megaton. Even with all the people, the bot and even that dog of hers. He'd sit on the chair in her room and wait, gun always on his back, but always quick to be pulled when threat flashed it's ugly face.

And as Charon pulled his finger back, he could almost _feel_ the inner workings of his gun. He could feel everything it did, right up to firing off the rounds. And as he stepped up and dealt the finishing blows to a writhing and squealing rad scorpion, Charon came to the realization that he knew just what his brand of happiness was.

To him, happiness was...

His brand of happiness…was a warm gun.

* * *

The first in a set of challenges issued by a friend of mine, **BlackRaptor93**, I give to you, _Happiness is..._

Featuring everybodies favorite ghoul, Charon.

This one was particularly fun to write, brought on by Charon telling me in game that he found 'happiness in a warm gun'. I was all over him when he said that. Though I had to stop several times to ask myself if Charon would think such a thing while I was writing this. Ah well. The next emotion up is _Anger_, not sure who will make an appearance in that chapter, though. Any suggestions? =D

If anyone reads this, please let me know if you liked (or disliked) this chapter, and any of the ones to follow. Reviews help an author get better, ya know~


	2. A misunderstanding

**A misunderstanding... **(Crimson Scarlet)

* * *

As he stood behind that counter, casually cleaning a shot glass with a dirtied hand towel, he slightly nodded his head to the tune of _I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire_, never once thinking it an ironic song to be heard in the world's current so-damn-irradiated-it's-burning predicament. A few Megaton residents and some strangers were strewn about the small establishment, he recognized some as usual customers; Lucy West in her seat by the door, nursing some beer and minding her own business, Billy Creel was chatting it up at the bar with Nova, who was obviously glad to be talking to anyone other than a red-faced Moriarty, and then there was humanity's last hope, little Miss Vault 101 herself and some greasy looking boy with a staring problem.

Oh, the dog was there too…somewhere.

She sat directly in front of him at the bar, leisurely sipping on some wine she'd found. Of course, there was a policy against brining your own drinks, but since having sold it to Gob, who then poured her a glass, there was really jack shit Moriarty could do. Didn't stop him from opening his damn mouth though. He teased her about knowing where he was, taunted her with information she would have to cough up plenty of caps to know. He mocked her and went on and on about her dad, knowing it was a touchy subject for the teen. Everyone in Megaton knew it - hell, even Nathan knew it even though the Enclave seemed to be the only thing on his dusty old mind.

So, Moriarty sure as hell knew it.

And Gob hated him for it. Now, he wasn't a man typical to display violent emotions, though there have been some times where he'd get angry at small things (such as the radio), but when it came to Moriarty…Gob detested that man with a passion he never knew he was capable of. If there was a way out of that damned saloon Gob would take it with both hands firmly holding on.

But, of course, Moriarty knew that as well.

There wasn't a thing that man didn't know, and Gob's affections for the vaultie were on that list. In fact, he made it a point to mock the ghoul whenever the moment presented itself. His feelings were chaste at most; he loved her like an older brother would his kid sister. He didn't want to see the Wastelands ruin her like it's done so many others. He took care of her as best he could, cheapening the price on whatever stimpaks he had on hand, humoring her with tales of his childhood, and letting her talk out her problems and memories of her old home with him, were just some of the things he did to make things easier on her. No matter how small. Of course, she'd help him out by occasionally brining in booze from the wastes and other cities just so he didn't have to drink in Moriarty's piss when he needed to relax.

"I think you're just polishing the dirt now, pal."

Her voice chimed in through his thoughts; she seemed to be doing a fine job of ignoring Moriarty. Gob smiled at her, and set the shot glass down in favor of offering her another drink. She held up a dirtied hand and shook her head.

"No, thanks. How've you been since I left for…since I left?"

Gob shrugged his shoulders, not bothering to ask her where it was that she'd went and why she didn't want to tell him, and picked up another glass, puffing hot breath into it before lazily wiping at it. He'd once heard Three Dog talk about her and some doctor chick leave the Jefferson Memorial _without _her father in tow and then a bit later going home, and if her hesitation in talking about where she'd been for the past 21 days was any indication that things did not turn out well, he wasn't going to press her for information. He turned his dusky eyes towards the boy next to her who had turned around in his seat, lounging back against the counter with a warm bottle of beer barely being held between his fingers.

"You know, the usual. Though, Moriarty's been especially nasty lately and I needed a friendly face."

He gave her a chaste smile, and she returned it halfheartedly, frowning when the man next to her snorted and muttered something under his breath. It sounded indistinctly like-

"_Tunnel Snakes rule."_

But hell if Gob knew what the hell a tunnel snake was and why its level of sovereignty was relevant to anything.

"But that doesn't matter. How have _you_ been? You seem less…saintly than I remember."

He made an attempt at a joke but weakened his smile into a dull quirk of his lips as he noticed no reaction from her. The ghoul shifted uneasily, rubbing the shot glass even slower than before as Moriarty and Nova entered into a discussion about low-paying customers. Nova tried to explain that it wasn't her fault, but Moriarty seemed adamant on placing the blame mostly on her. He turned his ear towards them, listening in once Nova asked for a break. Heaven knows she needs one- can't be easy being a fuck-toy for every male that passes by. _Almost_ every male. Gob uneasily set the glass down and absently reached for a plate, cringing when the tips of his fingers tipped it off the counter.

"_-What's a disc? Hell if I know, but I'm gonna keep talkin' anyways!"_

The silence that followed was deafening, not even Three Dog's incessant yapping could penetrate it; it was that thick. Gob could feel every pair of eyes in the bar swivel to his person, and he suddenly felt the comings of stage fright. He cursed under his breath and slowly descended to the floor to pick up the shattered pieces. Eventually, conversation picked up again as he vanished behind the counter. Given that his head was facing the floor, frayed fingers nimbly plucking up the shards, Gob did not see Moriarty appear behind him. Only when Gob stood, hands cupping the glass, did he notice Moriarty.

"Sorry, Mister Moriarty. I'll-"

Closed fisted and quick came Moriarty's hit upon Gob. The ghoul reeled from the punch and the plate pieces fell from his hands and collided with the ground, larger pieces shattering and expelling outward like tiny, dirty little fireworks. Gob's back hit the counter, hands used to brace himself knocking over the Vault girl's drink. It spilled over the front of her 'Wasteland Legend' armor and her companion cursed loudly as he jumped up from his seat and inspected himself for stains.

"What the fuck, man!"

He brushed his 101 jumpsuit down, despite nothing being on it, and fixed Gob with a dirty look. The ghoul didn't notice it though, his rheumy eyes wide and locked on to Moriarty as the man approached and gripped him by the back of his neck and shoved him to the ground. The glass broke the skin of his hands and stuck into his flesh, blood slowly oozed around the embedded pieces. The saloon grew quiet again as Moriarty kicked Gob while he was down.

"Ya fuckin' idiot!" His boot landed on the ghoul's back as Gob curled into a ball to protect himself.

"Now I'm gonna have t' get a new one- that's wastin' caps!"

The pain in his ribs grew tenfold as Moriarty dropped his boot there three more times. Gob was sure something was broken. He contemplated killing Moriarty then. Gob wasn't a violent man, but there was only so much he could take before snapping. His fight or flight method kicked in, but he was torn between getting up and pummeling his boss, or staying curled up and off in a corner like a whimpering little puppy. He weighed his options. On one hand, Moriarty wouldn't kill him, but the bruises and injuries would stay for a while, not to mention he'd still have to get up everyday and work his hours. On the other hand, Simms would probably be called over and Gob would get shot on the spot. Neither were appealing outcomes, but how'd that saying go…Gotta pick the lesser of the two evils, right? Gob was by no means interested in having his lengthy life cut short, so he stayed his place, taking the kicks and occasional punch without so much as a single complaint or agonized sound escaping him.

And then it all stopped.

With the scraping of metal on metal and the quick footfalls of another person, Moriarty's weight was lifted from Gob's beaten body and thrown somewhere else. People gasped and multiple chairs were moved as something was going down, but Gob was too afraid to look up. Not because he didn't want to get hit again, but because he had a feeling he knew just what was happening, and he didn't want to see her do it. His suspicions were confirmed when Moriarty angrily shoved her back and called her all kinds of unpleasant names.

"What the fuck'er ya doin', bitch? Don't you forget I know where yer daddy is!"

She adjusted the gloves on her hands before pulling her arm back and dealing a punishing blow. Unfortunately, Moriarty wasn't one to back down despite the fact that he was facing off against the 'Hero of the Wastes'. Most of the patrons were calling bets and cheering for who they thought would win- Gob could even hear her companion cheering her on -, and then some were threatening to get Simms or Jericho. The sound of a body hitting the floor startled him, and Gob slowly shifted and lifted his head a little, looking through one eye at the scene unfolding before him.

It would appear that Moriarty had body slammed her to the ground, pinning her underneath his mass and hammering down on her with both fists. She held her arms up to block his assault and took the chance to bash her head against his nose when his fist slipped off her arm and hit the floor. Moriarty shot up then, holding his hands to his bleeding nose and Gob's eyes widened as she punched him right below his sternum. The older man doubled over and the girl took the opportunity to switch their places, mounting his hips and jackhammering her fists down on him with anger backing every hit. Gob wasn't a man trained in fighting, but the way she struck him looked vastly more…refined…than the way Moriarty was hitting her. She hit with intent, a purpose behind each well-placed blow, but Moriarty looked to be hitting just to cause as much damage as possible.

The dog was circling the two, having sprinted from where his master once sat. He paced around them, snarling and growling, hackles raised and saliva dripping from his canines. The dog desperately wanted to help her, but he was smart, he knew she was in the way and he didn't want to bite her too. So he settled for tugging at Moriarty's pant leg, inadvertently dragging them both back since she was still seated on his chest and raining down hurt.

Moriarty did get one good hit off on her, though, and it sent her sprawling to the floor, clutching her right side. Her face was screwed up in a mesh of utmost agony and Moriarty seemed too proud of himself for managing to hit her like that. He got to his feet and reached down to pull her up by the collar of her shirt after delivering a heavy kick to the dog. Gob closed his eyes then, hating himself more than he'd ever before. She was fighting his fight, and losing, and he couldn't get up off his sorry ass to do anything to help her. What kind of man was he? He could hear Moriarty slam her against the bar and a glass bottle was broken. A few gasps emanated from the patrons, people whispering and growing quiet so much that Gob could only assume that Moriarty was fighting dirty. True to his style.

"Butch!"

She called out to him, and Gob opened his eyes once more to see her partner vault over the counter and grab Moriarty's arm, busted bottle dangerously close to piercing her flesh. Butch struggled with Moriarty and gave the Vaultie the chance needed to reach into his pockets and pull out his switchblade. It flicked open with a smooth and sharp sound and her arm reared back to plunge it right into the soft skin of Moriarty's stomach.

"Wait, wait!"

She stopped an inch from him and he waved his free hand frantically. Her hand shot out and fisted in Moriarty's shirt, pulling him down.

"You ever put your hands on him again and I'll bleed you fucking dry!"

"Alright, alright! You win."

All three participants huffed and panted, though only two of them winced in pain. Moriarty grimaced as both Butch and the girl let him go, one hand immediately folding over his injured sternum. Damn, she hit like a man. Butch went to her side then, grasping her shoulders as she blanched, one trembling hand going to her side to gingerly feel the wound. Gob took that moment to shuffle from his place on the floor, meekly standing and scooting to her side. He shuffled his feet and cradled his torso with his arms.

"You shouldn't have done that, kid… You okay?"

She dropped her head back on the counter and chuckled low and slow before bringing her head back up to look at him. The chatter resumed in the bar, people hooting and clapping, booing and dropping back into their seats, or slowly shaking their heads at the unnecessary display of violence and machismo. Gob only noticed that she looked pale and sick, and he looked down to her side wondering if Moriarty got her with a cheap shot or a well-placed and well-intended hit.

"Had better days. And…_he _shouldn't have done that, not to you. It was an accident- Fuuck. I think he hit my liver…" She paused a moment to gather herself and let out a light sigh. "More importantly; are _you_ okay?"

She looked him up and down, and Gob suddenly felt very self-conscious. He shuffled his feet again and turned his head to stare at some interesting spot on the door. He felt bad now. Here she was, injured and beaten like she stole something all because she wanted to stick up for his sorry self, and there he was, shuffling his feet and unable to offer her anything to make her feel better. Gob exhaled slowly and was finally able to peel his eyes away from the door after a minute of awkward silence on both sides.

"I'm alright…had worse."

He admitted quietly, lowering his arms in an attempt to prove his point. She didn't look like she believed him in the slightest but she didn't say anything else. Her companion took the opportunity to commend her fight, roughly patting her shoulder and drawing a hiss from her. He spouted words of appraisal-

"_You kicked his ass like a real Tunnel Snake, yeah!"_

"_We showed that bastard who's boss!"_

She didn't say much in response to him though, only shifting and lowering herself down from the counter and slowly making her way around the bar to her stool. Gob shuffled closely to her other side (Butch still glued to her shoulder) and offered her up some stimpaks on him.

"I don't got much, but you can have as many as you need…I'll pay for them, too."

"It's alright, Gob." That was the first time she'd said his name since she came back to Megaton. "I got my own stash at home."

Dogmeat limped his way behind them, occasionally whimpering. Gob looked down at the dog and felt an especially painful twinge of regret stick him in the heart. He'd at least treat the dog, poor thing. He headed back to the register, warily eyeing Moriarty, who was leaning against the door to his office and giving off one hell of a death glare. Oh, if looks could kill… Gob pulled a few stimpaks from the shelf and reached into his pockets to pull out some caps, dropping them in the register. He looked back to Moriarty again, who seemed to have stole his way closer to the ghoul while he was unaware, and hastily retreated back to the lone wanderers side and moving to his knees to treat the dog. Moriarty stepped behind the register and crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

"How's about you and I forget about this little…misunderstanding, and go about business as usual, aye? How'd ya like a shot of whisky on the house?"

The lone wanderer lifted her head from the cool counter, having dropped it there as soon as she sat down, and gave him a look that clearly told him he could take his free shot of whisky and shove it up his ass. Moriarty shrugged his shoulders and reached under the counter to get her a shot anyways. Or…that's what everyone else thought. The thick, serrated combat knife barely grazed her hand as she fell off her stool. Gob stuck the dog with the stimpak, and in turn the animal gave a start which startled him and knocked the vault girl off her chair. She hit the ground with a heavy thud and a sharp cry and everyone was out of their seats again.

Mostly because Moriarty rounded the bar and rushed the girl, shoving Butch off his stool and stampeding by anyone who got in his way. 101 rolled to the side as his boot came crashing down where her head would have been and she struggled to her knees and threw her body at his waist, shoving him back into the wall by the stairs. Her right fist repeatedly jabbed at his side, but Moriarty brought his leg up and kneed her in the face, before bringing his knife down. Butch, with his impeccable timing, ran at the older man and slammed his knife-wielding arm against the wall. Most of the bar occupants had decided that the fight had gone from bad to worse when Moriarty decked Butch in the temple and sent him stumbling backwards till he hit the hard ground. Once the boy was down, almost all of them left the saloon at once.

The Hero of the Wastes reeled back once she spotted that deadly knife coming at her again, and she flicked open Butch's toothpick again and swiped at the larger (and by far more offending) weapon, just barely managing to parry it. The dog then decided that it was his time to shine, and he deftly bounded from behind her, through the thin space between the combatants and turned sharply to sink his teeth into Moriarty's leg. Dogmeat's head thrashed from left to right and he jerked his body back, drawing Moriarty's anger towards him instead of his master, who could barely keep to her feet. The calloused Irishman stabbed the dog in his back and Dogmeat gave such a terrible cry that Gob had to cover his ears. 101 threw herself at him again, kneeing him in his groin with such vigor that Gob and Nova, the only two coherent ones present, thought they heard something pop.

Moriarty keeled forward and she used that to her advantage, fisting her hands in his clothes again and shoving him down towards her raising knee. It was Moriarty's turn to throw himself at her, and he dug his shoulder into her stomach, moving them back until she lost her footing tripping over Butch's body and they went to the ground once more. Collin was quick, she'd give him that, as he gripped his knife and brought it down at her. The blade went all the way through her arm, with the force he put behind it. The hilt caught on the bones of her forearm, unable to push through, yet the point of the blade was inches away from her eye.

Her blood dripped down onto her face, and neither of them could get a one-up on the other; while the Irishman couldn't push his knife down on her from her using her other arm to keep her wounded one elevated from her face, she couldn't throw him off _because _of her bracing her arm.

"I'll fukkin kill ya, ya little bitch!"

"Fuck you, motherfucker!"

Gob watched them scream obscenities at one another, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He desperately looked around, trying to find some way to end it all. Butch was groaning on the floor underneath the girl's legs, the dog was unmoving at the bottom of the stairs, Nova was stuck still in her corner, scared beyond her wits, and the only other person there was some drunk guy who was inebriated beyond the levels of comprehension. Gob knew he needed to do something, but _what _could _he _do? He wasn't a fighter, he didn't even know how to hold his arms up without looking like a damned fool. If he didn't do anything she'd die… Gob could feel his heart beat faster in his chest and a familiar clenching feeling constrict it.

It was like his body wasn't his to control anymore.

His legs moved him forward and his arms outstretched on their own and he shoved Moriarty off of her. He felt fuzzy and strange, but oddly happy, too. Despite feeling as if his body was acting on its own will, Gob felt a sudden surge of…elation, would probably best describe it. He felt like a man for stepping in and helping her out. But his body trembled as he acted out against his boss, hovering over her as Moriarty went falling off to the side. For a moment, the Irishman just stared at him, leaning off to the side with a wide-eyed expression.

"You little shit…"

His lips pulled back in a rather unappealing fashion to reveal the slightly stained teeth behind them. It was then Gob felt like he'd done something terribly wrong. If he had any color to lose he would have blanched wonderfully when Moriarty wrenched his knife from her arm and tackled the ghoul to the ground, hollering and screaming at Gob. The knife was clenched so tightly in Moriarty's hand his knuckles turned white and his hand trembled briefly before the weapon descended down upon Gob. He raised his arms and shielded his face, breath hitching in his throat. Gob thought back to his time with his mother in Underworld, thought back to how she smelled like cigarette smoke and old linen, how she felt like worn and tattered leather (though 'Mommy's hugs' were still the greatest ever), and how she loved him like she was his own when no one else would give the lost and orphaned child a second glance.

And then he thought about that lone wanderer, humanity's last bastion of hope. What he wouldn't give to turn back time and change her opinion of him. She didn't deserve the beating she was getting on his behalf. If she hated him like every other smoothskinned bigot out there, things wouldn't have progressed as far as they had then. Blood splattered against his skin and, at first, Gob thought it might have been his own blood. But when the weight on his body grew heavier before shifting as Moriarty's weight was suddenly heaved off his body and thrown to the floor next to Gob, he opened his eyes and glanced to his side. The switchblade was stuck in his chest, and Moriarty's own combat knife had somehow managed to impale him under his chin and straight up through his mouth and, undoubtedly, into his skull.

Gob gave a start and scrambled backwards as the Irishman slowly blinked at him before a dark, blood-covered hand reached down and removed the switchblade from Collin's chest to swiftly cut it across his throat. Gob got to his feet and backtracked away from the growing pool of blood that oozed from Collin's wounds, and braced against the wall once his back came in contact with it. He stared with wide eyes at dead or dying Collin Moriarty, then slowly back to a wincing 101. She panted and huffed, holding her side again and stumbling over to her dog, sliding down the wall and sitting next to him as Lucas Simms kicked in the door with Jericho at his side and Lucy West peering over their shoulders.

"God damn it."

"Damn…"

Lucas stepped in and crouched down by Moriarty while Jericho stood at the door, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. Butch slowly got to his feet and immediately checked his hair, sighing lightly and nodding to himself once he corrected a few loose strands. Crisis averted. Gob watched as 101 ordered Butch to get her the stimpaks on the ground where he'd left them, then materialized at her side and handed them over to her, hooting and expressing more commending gestures to her while pointing and jeering at the dead man on the floor.

"Yeah, because that's how snakes fight, right up in your face with fangs and... knives and stuff! High-five, Lettie!"

She ignored him and gently patted Dogmeat on his head before using all 3 stimpaks on him.

"Atta boy."

"Damn it, Douglas!" Lucas looked to the girl from his crouch and fixed her with a reproachful look, obviously ignoring Butch as well, who complained about being 'left hanging'. "What the hell happened in here?"

The girl groaned and turned to look at Gob, who finally caught his nerve and smiled shyly at her, then Lucas before staring at Moriarty's body.

"A misunderstanding…"

* * *

Rather longer than I intended, and I'm not sure if I got Moriarty and Gob down right, but wha-hey, will you look at that! I've managed to do TWO, count 'em TWO, one-shots with Charon and Gob in either one withOUT 101 sexing them up. Do I get a high-five? =D

This piece was also fun to write, despite the fact that I've never written a fight scene quite like this before. But, I just wanted to get across that Collin Moriarty isn't a pushover that's just going to buckle and die with one punch from the Lone Wanderer, since I've seen that a lot in fics and it's gotten old. I also didn't want to just have him shot...cause...well that also happens a lot in fics. I do hope I did this well, though.

WOOH! Happiness and Anger are down, so next up on the list is either Fear or Love. Haven't decided which to do first. Once again, suggestions are open and reviewing is much welcomed and appreciated. Oh, but remember that if you're gonna flame me, please do so in a manner that lets me know just what I've done wrong and how you think I could have done it better =)


	3. Wonderful You

**Wonderful You**

_I was walking along, minding my business  
When out of an orange-colored sky  
Flash! Bam! Alakazam!  
Wonderful you came by_

The radio buzzed from somewhere in the darkened room. The words were fuzzy and hard to hear, and he couldn't be sure if it was because of the strange ringing in his ears, or if it was just the nature of the decrepit piece of old world tech. There was a tepid wetness over his brow, slowly dripping down his eye that told him the ringing was likely result of whatever happened to his head.

The radio was still a piece of shit, though.

He chanced a twist of his body and found that he was securely restrained. He was strung up like a stuck pig – _even hanging from a meat hook – _and in his mouth was a gritty feeling rag that tasted metallic and sour. The only thing keeping it in his mouth was another ratty rag tied around his face. It smelled like old, sweaty ass.

_What in the goddamn…?_

_I was humming a tune, drinking in sunshine  
When out of that orange-colored view  
Flash! Bam! Alakazam!  
I got a look at you_

Lights flickered to an unsteady life above him, but their dim glow did little to illuminate the area. As best he could tell he was in some sort of factory or warehouse. He could smell the acrid stench of decay and he refused to examine the dark figure hanging to his side, just barely touching the edges of his peripheral. In the distance, there was a steady _pit-pit_ of what he could only assume was blood and there was a puddle of _something_ coating his once-nice shoes. Damn it.

"Oh, well, hey! You're awake, good! That's good!" a voice came from somewhere behind him. Hands gripped his arms and he was spun sharply around to face the opposite direction.

_One look and I yelled, "Timber  
Watch out for flying glass!"  
Cause the ceiling fell in and the bottom fell out  
I went into a spin and I started to shout  
"I've been hit, this is it, this is it, I've been hit!"_

Brown eyes were temporarily blinded as a bright pen-light was flashed before them. It was gone after two passes, and he rapidly blinked, trying to wipe the afterimage from his vision. What replaced the perfectly spherical phantom images was a very real face belonging to a very dead person.

"Heya, Benny! How'ya doin'?" the young man asked with a tone of genuine interest.

Finding it kinda hard to talk with a mouth full of nasty, his eyes darted around the man's face, trying to figure out if maybe the ache in his head was the prelude to a concussion. He decided that the idea of this man being a hallucination was a pretty fantastic one. It'd make sense, too.

A guy doesn't just go from sitting in his suite, sipping on a glass of wine and thinking about getting some _hey-hey_, to hanging in a clearly derelict palace of horrors.

_I was walking along, minding my business  
When love came and hit me in the eye  
Flash! Bam! Alakazam!  
Out of an orange-colored sky_

"Oh, me? I'm…I don't know. I guess I'm alright." he continued, unperturbed by Benny's stunned silence. "Been having these…_headaches_. Hurts the most _right here_."

Benny watched, slightly disquieted, as he tapped two fingers to an area on his forehead, a bit above his right eye. As close as they were, he could make out the shape of the scar and the discolored skin that came with it. Trailing his eyes along the rest of the man's body, Benny could also see a thick, painful-looking line down the center of his chest. There was another one, too, trailing the entire length of his spine as he walked away to investigate something outside of Benny's turning capabilities.

Both of the scars looked surgical, almost, but just barely. Like a free clinic trying to do a general hospital.

"The pain never goes away." he added, returning and slowly running his fingers along the wound on his head. His tone was subdued and the look in his odd-eyes was distant.

_One look and I yelled "Timber  
Watch out for flying glass!"  
Cause the ceiling fell in and the bottom fell out  
I went into a spin and I started to shout  
"I've been hit, this is it, this is it, I've been hit!"_

But then he snapped his fingers and it was like flipping a coin. There was something alarmingly disarming in his smile. It was a top-of-the-mornin' kind of smile that, on any other day in any other situation, would have quelled any fears. But there was something beneath the white teeth and quirked lips, deadly in nature despite the charm.

Kid had to have toxic amounts of swag to be able to pull that off.

But then there was a scalpel in his hands and shit got real. Benny had no idea where he pulled it from but there it was, catching the limited light on an edge sharper than his mother's tongue. The man ran his fingers through his hair, scalpel gliding through without the least bit of care.

"I finally got you, though. You were one slippery bastard to catch up to, you know that?" he said in a tone that was just too goddamn chipper. It was as if he wasn't about to commit first-degree murder with the Strips swankiest bachelor playing unwilling victim.

_I was walking along, minding my business  
When love came and hit me in the eye  
Flash! Bam! Alakazam!  
Out of an orange-colored, purple-striped, pretty green polka-dot sky  
Flash! Bam! Alakazam! and goodbye_

"It feels good though; the pain. I can _feel_ it and I have you to thank for that. I want to share some with you now."

It was when he pressed their foreheads together and gazed into Benny's eyes with something not far off from twisted adoration - _unarmed hand softly gripping the back of his neck _- that the older man pulled his head back and dropped it on the kid's nose. There was a satisfying _crunch!_ of broken cartilage and, though the moment was fleeting, Benny relished his surprised cry. It took only a moment for his captor to shake the pain off, one hand pressed over his broken nose in an attempt to stem the blood flow. The least enjoyable part of it all was the goddamned smile on his face. Like he really did get off on pain.

The courier approached Benny once again, for the final time, and let go of his nose in favor of hooking his fingers under the rag and cutting it with the scalpel on hand, not a care in the world as the older man spat the cloth in his mouth out. Oh, the things he had to say - _oh all the goddamn things he had to say to this little piece of shit!_ And boy, did he ever want to let him have it. He took a deep breath as the kid again left his line of sight, walking around behind him.

"Now listen up, you _sick fuck_-"

Before he could even vent his anger, a toned arm was wrapped tight around his neck and with just the right amounts of pressure and torque, a crack resounded through the room and everything was quiet.

Stepping back around to Benny's front, Thomas pushed the limp body with his foot and gave a once-over before coming to a conclusion.

"Wow! I thought love was much softer than that, what a most disturbing sound."

* * *

Well, after like a hundred years of silence we have Orange Colored Sky! Yes, this takes it's name directly from the song used in some trailer for NV or another. This chapter is my attempt at _Love_ (a very confused and unloving kind of love) and I'm not sure how I feel about this but Imma just stick it here and hope it isn't as bad as I see it. Opinions?


End file.
